Trail of Bloods
by Kunagiri
Summary: It was an inhuman sight even for him, but he did not exactly hate it.


**Really, everything written on this page won't be definitely be done without Zeppuujin's help. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for letting me have the amazing idea of a story of yours, and decant this all into a hopefully wonderful story. Another series of thanks for the canon reviewing, really! You're the best. Further inspiration coming from Pixiv ID 24098707.**

**Oh by the way Zeppuujin, your Ace is _AMAZING_. I really love how you portray his personality into words and make him seemingly alive, and I have to be honest, I find Ace's personality to be the most… complicated compared to the rest. I couldn't wait to have more RP with your Ace!**

**Also, isn't it about time they changed the title of this category to Final Fantasy Type-0?  
**

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**Trail of Bloods  
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Machina knew not the reason of the strange, more so awkward, feeling that coursed through his very being that cold winter afternoon. Perhaps, it was due to him transforming into a walking, breathing enigma. Once a proud warrior of Suzaku, now reduced down to nothing more than a l'Cie, bound to Byakko's lines. Where red mantle had once encased his gallant form, he now felt suffocated in the mask that once belonged to his enemy. This disgusted him on very various layers of disgusts.

But it was his plan all along.

He dared not say that he hated his official for assigning him on a mission like this-the law was supreme, the collective came before the individual, and by infiltrating Byakko, he had done his job correctly.

And now here he was cast, a three timer, under the devilish country that had killed swarms of Suzaku's warrior, perhaps even some of his friends. Yet, by way of his mastery of the darkness, feelings of bereaved morphed into something so foreign that it had completely caught his own heart off guard.

In the beginning of his time on this land, he had turned away from everyone's seemingly cold shoulders, only to sink deeper into his own ideas of ambitions along with hatred and sadness. Those filthy Milites' lifestyle represented everything that threatened his former lifestyle: chaos, unruliness, a complete disregard to life—and what had frightened him the most about this predicament, this realm, was that just as he made up his mind about not thinking of anything aside this mission, he failed to do and done something so genuine, so out of character, that the image of a smile of one girl petrified all his muscle.

...No, he shouldn't let that cloud his mind.

He now grew accustomed to playing a silent treatment, impolitely glaring beneath the tiger-shaped mask at anyone who dared to ask him anything, or didn't answer his question correctly. If that method didn't work, he was not afraid to resorting to violence, not anymore.

The pure, knightly warrior that hibernated within him longed to go out from him for the sake of battle, for the sake of mauling his enemy into any state that was not death. The other part, however, only yearned to hear shrieks once again-

"Lost in thought, yet again?"

The hard voice that interrupted his thoughts was welcomed, for he knew it would provide, if only a short while, an intermission from his deep, melancholy thoughts. Still, something still lingered.

"Qator Bashtar." He stated coldly. The General knew all too well where his right hand man's thoughts had been wandering, albeit his way of doing things were as chaotic as him. "What do you need?"

"I am just taking a stroll before sleeping."

"Then go take your stroll somewhere else."

"I don't usually take order from someone else, but because that was what I have planned all along, I'll go with that."

The General calmly took a stride, barely turning his face at his l'Cie friend, knives brimming down his patched eye. "Just an advice, l'Cie." he paused, glaring at him. "Stop reducing the number of our troops any further, or you shall pay for it handsomely."

Before long, Qator had vanished from his sight, leaving him to stand on his own yet again. He was never the best when it comes to things like wars and all, but at this one occasion, he grinned at Qator's last words, which soon erupted into a wicked snicker.

Machina Kunagiri turned his back towards the dark alley, his eyes scanned together two soldiers chatting idly in front of him. Indeed, Qator was right about the deficiency about the troop's numbers was caused by him… But he did not regret that a bit.

No sooner after he approached them, those two soldiers were nothing but lifeless ragdolls, twin swords bathed in their bloods. He raised his hand closer to his face, letting his eyes to get a more detailed look of its palm madly. This sickening feeling, which had once been so blatantly denied by him, could now be realized after so long.

He loved this.

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**Again, thanks to Zeppuujin for the explanation of Machina's bloodthirsty side. I just couldn't thank him enough for all of this xD. R 'n R please!  
**


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